


speak polite to strangers on the road

by thankyouturtle



Series: strangers on the road [1]
Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alanna Goes To The Convent, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouturtle/pseuds/thankyouturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George has no mind to dawdle on the way back to Corus, but then he didn't expect to find a runaway lass, fast asleep on her mount in the middle of the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	speak polite to strangers on the road

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone should write at least one "Alanna goes to the convent" AU. Title is from something Liam says to Alanna early on in _Lioness Rampant_.

George Cooper had no mind to dawdling on the road back to Corus. His mother's messenger bird had told of a new sickness in the Lower City, and you didn't have to be the Rogue himself to know what that meant. Panic was certain, but what might follow - rioting, looting, and more death than was necessary - might not, if he could keep his people calm enough. Just how he was to do it was what occupied his thoughts as he rode in the dim early morning light back towards the capital. Years of practice kept him alert to his surroundings despite his focus on his plans, and George saw the rider ahead of him in the distance even before his Sight told him that the rider was someone he ought to be paying attention to. Not a dangerous someone - just someone worth taking an interest in

As he approached the rider, he thought he would have done that even without his Sight. He noticed from some way off that they were dead still, when this wasn't a part of the road that was safe stopping for a lone rider. Now he saw why. The rider, a girl, had fallen asleep, avoiding a fall by the simple means of strapping herself into her saddle. This was no commoner girl, either - her clothes easily marked her as a noble or a rich merchant's daughter, who likely as not had no business to be out riding by herself. Her crumpled riding skirts and bright red hair, falling loose from its braid, would have told him she'd been riding through the night even if she'd been wide awake.

His own long legged mare had him towering over the slight figure on her placid pony, making it easy for him to lean over and coolly shake her out of her dreams - and catch her arm before she reached for the dagger he'd already seen tucked into her riding coat.

"Now then, lass," he said cheerfully, "if I'd meant you harm I'd not have woke you first."

Her purple eyes caught and held his. She wasn't pretty, exactly, but with eyes like that she'd always be memorable. "Thank you for waking me," she said, the same as a lady might thank her handmaid. Then she grinned. "And for not robbing me."

"'Twas my pleasure. And since we're chattin', might I ask why you're temptin' fate, out here by yourself?"

Plenty of rich folk would have been on their dignity then, mere lasses or no, but when this one scowled, it wasn't at him. "My brother's sick," she said. "They wouldn't let me go to him, so I just - went." As if recalled to the fact she was in a hurry, she nudged her pony forwards. George did likewise. Brother, was it? There couldn't be more than two with that hair and those eyes.

"That would be Thomas of Trebond, your brother?"

She turned in her saddle, eyes showing surprise. "You know Thom?"

"I hear palace gossip," George replied easily. "When a page is gettin' bullied, and that bully starts lookin' at shadows and into dark corners as though somethin' were there, until he's so nervous he gets sent home - well, word gets around, to those who are interested in hearin' it."

The girl's smile was not pleasant. "Thom doesn't like fighting, but it's fool of anyone to think he's soft because of that. You don't have to ride with me, you know. I can look after myself."

"Of course," George agreed. "But I'm thinkin' you haven't been to Corus before, and as I'm headin' that way myself, I can show you the right road to the palace. Besides, travellin' is easier with company." The girl agreed, only a touch reluctantly. She showed no wish to tell him any more than she already had, but George was used to getting information out of folk, and before long he had her name and her story. She was Alanna of Trebond, and she knew her brother was ill because she always knew when he was badly hurt; and she couldn't say why it was important to go to him, just that she knew she must.

She was meant to be at the Mother of Deep Water convent outside of the City of the Gods, studying to become a lady; what she wanted was to learn all the things that ladies weren't supposed to know. "Thom and I almost swapped places," she told him with the smallest sigh. "He wanted to learn magic, not to become a knight. But Maud - she's a healer at Trebond - did a fire reading, and said we were meant to take a different path." She looked troubled, and George changed the subject by asking how she had escaped.

"That was easy," she said scornfully. "The worst punishment they can think up is a few days in bed with only bread and water. And my room is close to the stables."

"And will you go back, when you've seen your brother?"

Alanna flushed. "I don't know," she admitted. "It wasn't fair of them to keep me from Thom when he needs me. But - the Mother Superior was decent. It's not fair of _me_ to run away when I'm meant to be in her charge. I left a note to apologise, but it's probably not enough."

"And your family? Most nobles don't like their daughters prancing around the countryside." Alanna flushed again, but this time angrily.

"If my father cared for anything but his scrolls I wouldn't be so far from Thom in the first place."

Recalling her talk of bread and water, George dug through his saddle bag to offer Alanna an apple, and a lump of cheese. She thanked him in a dainty way she might have picked up at that convent of hers, and then wolfed the food down like any lass who'd barely eaten for longer than what was right. It was just like nobles to deprive their children of something that plenty in the Lower City could barely afford, he thought wryly.

He continued to ask her questions, and discovered she'd been pestering the convent's temple guards for training since the day that she arrived, and had been caught more than once with a weapon when she was meant to be in class. Most of the other young ladies treated her with contempt, although one or two showed a friendly sympathy to her rebelliousness. She was strong-willed, that was obvious, but how long would it be until the life she hated broke her spirits? It seemed to George that whatever her healer friend saw in the fire, Alanna's path couldn't be the one she was on.

At midday they stopped to rest the horses, and Alanna demanded to know what George's business was. "You know everything about me, now," she added.

"I find things folk don't need, and redistribute 'em to those that do," he told her, straight-faced.

"You're a thief!" she exclaimed, her eyes showing both shock and a hint of amusement.

"Not one that steals from my friends," he reassured her, "and that fruit and cheese we had this morning was come by honest. I can tell when a lass has scruples." She shook her head, but she was smiling.

"How do you know I'm a friend?"

"You have to be a good judge, in my business - or learn to be one quick." After all, he'd made one or two noble friends who turned out to be not so friendly. He pulled another apple from his bag and threw it to Alanna, who accepted it, and fell silent while she ate. She was chewing over more than just the apple, George could see. Leaving her to it, he took the time to look over both horses, checking the straps were still comfortable and that Alanna's mount was still up for the rest of the journey. The lass had picked the right pony; she was a sturdy thing, and could probably continue for days so long as she had food and water enough.

As he finished, Alanna threw away her core, curiosity plain in her face. "If you're a thief, why are you interested in palace gossip? And Thom said he was careful that no one ever knew it was him, who did those visions."

"Servants see more than their betters suppose," George said dryly. "As to the other - what the grand folk get up to can hurt the small folk livin' under them. I never heard that the king was a cruel man, but there's folk who suffer every day without enough, and it isn't the king who helps 'em."

Alanna fell silent again. George didn't know Trebond - he had never been to that part of the kingdom - but likely it was small enough that Alanna knew most of the commoners who were meant to be under her family's care. It wasn't like that in Corus - too big, too old, the royal family too uncaring. But she'd see that for herself soon enough, when they arrived.

As they took to the road again Alanna asked more questions. George told her - sparingly - about the Court of the Rogue. Before long she was chuckling over a tale of Marek and two flower girls, although there remained a shadow in her eyes. 

They arrived at the city gates in the evening light. George thought it best to tell her what he'd been thinking over then, before she became too distracted by crowds and the thought of her twin.

"Lass, if it's learning to fight you want, there are means and ways to go about it."

"None that wouldn't see my father disown me," she said, not a little heatedly. Her temper had flashed at him on and off all day; it could just be the worry for her brother, but with that copper hair George thought it was as likely to be her natural state.

"That depends on how it's handled." The anger dispersed and Alanna opened her mouth, but George held up his hand. "Don't ask me any questions yet, lass. Go and see your brother. When he's well, if you're not in mind to return to that convent - come and see me. If you ask at the Dancing Dove, you'll find me alright."

"But-" Alanna began, only to be interrupted by guards checking her name and business. George slipped quite happily into the role of her man-at-arms, stopping any questions as to why the lass was travelling alone. Then they were in the capital, and he chuckled inwardly to see her eyes grow wide at the crowds of people.

He saw her up to the palace, handing her over to a maid, a friend of Stefan's, who understood that m'lady was to be taken to see Thomas of Trebond in the infirmary with as few people noticing her as possible. But before they said goodbye, he reached out and clasped her shoulder. "Lass, I've my own people to tend to, but I'll be thinking of your brother. Gods willing he'll be well."

"So mote it be," Alanna whispered, returning the clasp, and left him.

At the Dancing Dove, George was immediately plunged into the turmoil caused by what the healers were calling the Sweating Sickness. When he'd heard from Eleni two days ago there had been maybe thirty cases in the Lower City, and the numbers were already in their hundreds. As the days passed, he made sure to stay informed of who was ill in the palace, and found himself relieved when Thomas of Trebond's name joined the others who were recovering. Plenty of folk did recover, at first, but as the days wore on the number of people falling ill did not slow. Anyone might be taken - rich or poor, old or young, strong and healthy or weak and frail. George heard that even Prince Jonathan had fallen in, likely to die, the palace healers too drained and the disease too strong for him to make it through.

The same day that the prince made a miraculous recovery, Alanna appeared at the Dancing Dove. She was pale, exhausted, and George had Rispah put her to bed, forbearing to ask her any questions of what she'd been doing to half-kill herself. But before his cousin could lead the lass off to a spare room, Alanna gripped his shoulder, firmly. "I need to be useful," she said, in a hoarse, boyish voice. "Will your way of learning to fight keep me useful?"

"That it will, lass," he promised. When he looked in at her later she was fast asleep, her copper hair spread like a crown above her on the pillow. 


End file.
